


Rain

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Feels, Crying, Flashbacks, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rain, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 04:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: Bucky finds a way to calm himself down.





	

The last of the water ran clear. Bucky ran the edge of his fingernail through the grooves and spaces in his metal arm, making sure that the remainder of the blood was dislodged from within its cracks. His stomach made an uncomfortable lurch at the thought of it. He looked up into the mirror tentatively, turning off the tap and holding onto the edge of the basin with trembling fists. Staring himself in the face, an uncomfortable showdown with his reflection that neither of them would win, not him, standing in the bathroom in his combat gear, and not the imposter on the other side of the glass. He would walk away from his tortured doppelgänger, appalled and disgusted by what he saw.

The mission had been one of SHIELD’s, which only minutely lessened the reeling guilt that he felt now. He had stopped counting casualties at twenty-two.

 _No civilians at least,_ the slightly more forgiving side of his mind reminded him. He took a slow breath, embarrassed when it became a hiccup that was followed by hot tears that stung the small gash on his cheek. It has come naturally to him. _Too_ naturally. The motions of killing, the quick dispatch methods. The way that he did not question the sound of a crushed larynx, the dull give of a bone snapping under the steel grip that he was forced to bear on his left side like a sinner’s cross.  Only after would wave after wave of remorse rattle through him like wind through a poorly built house. The house would stand for a while, offering all it could and only swaying in lighter breezes. But when winter came, it would not survive.

With Hydra, he was almost instantly put back into cryofreeze after missions. The guilt lessened and became bearable. Now, it was brutal and instant, and no Nazi with a needle full of ketamine and a little book of spells was going to be there to make him forget.

Bucky’s breaths began to speed up. His chest seemed to bear his weight tenfold, as though his skin had become thick and suffocating rubber.

“No,” Bucky whispered to himself, “No, no, no.”

The panic attacks had come to their peak this fall, starting with an incident in a grocery store that seemed to revisit him daily, ironic considering that the panic had been fuelled by a lack of memory.

It had been going well, normal and mundane, Steve pushing the cart and trying to navigate his way thorough more brands of mayonnaise than anyone could possibly need (“Seriously Buck, why do they think this is necessary? Mayo is _mayo._ ”). Bucky followed behind, lost in thought, taking in the sound and sights at his own leisure, occasionally reminding Steve of something they needed, or making conversation. But this time, his thoughts wandered too far, and he could not find his way back. There was a lapse that felt like an eternity (only thirty seconds, in reality), then he could not see Steve.

_“Shit,” he hissed, swivelling around, looking frantically down the aisle._

_Suddenly, the mundane sounds became anything but, bombarding him and coating his skin with their rhythm. The tightness came over his skin, his chest straining against the confines of his ribs like a caged animal, desperate to escape as a scream or tears. No sound left his mouth, just puffs of air the burned against his dry throat and tears that fell against his t-shirt leaving little dark spots._

_“I thought you were with me!” Steve chuckled from behind, “I’ve been talking to myself like a crazy…Bucky?”_

_Bucky shook his head, the only movement he could manage. Steve pushed the cart to the side and tentatively stepped in front of Bucky._

_“Talk to me, baby,” Steve whispered, “Come on, come back.”_

_“Steve, my chest,” Bucky whispered back, his mouth forming the words but only cracked syllables leaving his lips._

_“Do we need to leave?” Steve asked, his hand firmly gripped around Bucky’s metal side, and his body angles to take impact and get Bucky to the ground if needed._

_Steve tried not to think of that worst case scenario, one that would probably land Bucky on a psych ward. He and SHIELD’s psychology department were on tense terms._

_“Yes,” Bucky sobbed, his chest loosening for long enough to let the tears escape and stop the aching._

_Steve abandoned the cart, guided him by the arm to the car, buckled him in and drove off._

_The rain pounded against the windshield, slowly bringing a rhythm back to Bucky’s body and breathing._

The rain.

Bucky left the solitude of the bathroom and walked down the hall, his vision tunnelling and his movements growing urgent. A bead of sweat ran down his temple and his throat tensed. He glanced out of the window briefly; torrential rain. It had been for the past several days. Storm drains had burst and people had been advised to hoard sandbags.

He got to the front door, struggling with the bolts and locks with sweaty, shivering hands. A choke of urgency left him as he battled with them, finally popping them open (breaking them) with brute force.

“Buck, where are you going? It’s 11:00pm,” Steve’s voice from behind him filled him with a dread.

He didn’t need to burden him with this, and he could not trust his voice to do him justice.

Reluctantly, Bucky opened the door silently and left without an explanation, letting the door swing closed behind him.

“Buck, come back!” Steve called, “Come on, talk to me.”

The Captain jogged down the hall in his sweats to follow, vaulting over the stairwell railing so that he could cover a floor at a time. He was not catching up as quickly as he needed to.

He finally emerged into the downpour, scanning the rain-slashed scene for the familiar glint of metal marked with a star.

“Bucky!” He called out, looking around the apartment grounds helplessly.

It was his turn to panic.

He heard the familiar sound of his car door shutting and broke into a sprint towards the black Lexus. To his surprised the engine did not start. It was the passenger door that had shut. Steve dug for the keys in his pocket and unlocked the door, stepping into the driver’s side.

The sound of the rain was louder inside, amplified by the curve of the roof into a cacophonous roar, like static on a radio.

“Hey,” Steve soothed, “Hey, come on. What’s all this?”

Bucky’s had his arms on the dashboard, his face buried in them. His shoulders lurched rhythmically with uncontrolled gasps and shaking tears.

“Breath,” Steve whispered, “Please, Buck.”  


He tried, but a rough angry sob of escaped rage was all that he could manage. Steve had seen Bucky cry before, but not like this, never like this. Usually his tears were silent, buried in a pillow or behind closed doors. This was violent and desperate and it was tearing Steve apart to hear it.

“I’m a fucking _monster, “_ Bucky finally managed, choking hard on his words as air became something rushed and chaotic.

Steve frowned, pulling Bucky across him so that his head was on his chest.

“You know that’s not true,” Steve reassured, “You are anything but.”

Bucky coughed out another sob before taking the first real breath in that he could manage.

“There we are,” Steve sighed, “That’s a little less asthmatic, eh?”

Bucky managed a weak smile, closing his eyes into Steve’s neck and listening to the beating of the rain.

“Tell me when you’re ready to go back inside,” Steve said quietly.

“Five more minutes,” Bucky replied.  


 


End file.
